


What We Could Be

by thiswildheart



Series: Where you go, I go too [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Din Djarin, Protective Luke Skywalker, Slow Burn, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-23 00:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiswildheart/pseuds/thiswildheart
Summary: It has become clear to Luke that Din doesn't know he's Force-sensitive. Convincing a Mandalorian that he has the ability to use a power he still struggles to believe in is a sizeable challenge, let alone persuading him to learn to harness it.Din can't figure out how to use the Force, or if he even wants to - right up until the moment it lets him save Luke's life.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: Where you go, I go too [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173170
Comments: 38
Kudos: 271





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finding my inbox full of such lovely comments on the last installment made my week so much better, and I am truly grateful to everyone. This is a wonderful fandom and ship and I appreciate you all!
> 
> Breaking the mould a bit this week in that this will be a two parter, because I realised I was getting extremely carried away and decided to cut it off where there was a point of view shift, so there's more to come when I finally manage to bring it to an ending.
> 
> Until then, please enjoy this first installment of deepening emotions and an exploration of how I'm hoping/deciding the Force works.

Ever since that encounter outside the temple, when Din held his hands and they truly touched for the first time, Luke has felt like there's something powerful under his skin each time he looks at Din, like the hum of a lightsaber right inside his chest. It marks another of those shifts in their interactions that feel both gentle and seismic, because just as conversation began to relax and flow more easily months ago, now they share touches like it's something easy and natural.

Luke had avoided it for a long time, because Din felt walled off in so many ways. It required frequent mental reminders to override his own instinct for casual contact, but respecting Din's space was far more important than indulging himself. Even after that first exchange in the warm sunlight, he lets Din guide him - but Din keeps doing it. Standing closer than he needs to so that their shoulders bump together; letting their fingers brush, gloved or not, when they're making meals; tapping Luke's arm to get his attention or even grasping his hand briefly to call his attention to something.

So Luke follows his lead happily, and lets himself touch in the way that feels so natural to him. A grip to Din's arm in passing, supporting himself on Din's shoulder when he laughs, nudging him playfully when Din makes one of his dryly funny comments as they entertain Grogu.

Nothing in the galaxy is inevitable. Everything is a choice, big or small. But Luke can't help wondering if he knows where the choices they're making are leading, because the way he feels about this time spent with Din is unlike anything he's felt before.

That's not to say that all the decisions are easy, or automatically positive. They've been at the temple together for half a standard year now, by his estimation, though it's hard to be sure here - the summer stretches long, though thankfully not half so hot as Tatooine, and even the winter is mild. Time is even harder to track now than it was when he was alone because each day feels so full.

But it's definitely been a while, and he's beginning to reach the problematic conclusion that he and Din really need to have A Conversation, capitalisation and all.

His initial thoughts on the subject of Din's Force-sensitivity all centred around the notion that the issue might be best left well alone. He's not too proud to admit that's partly because he just didn't have a clue how to handle it. The thing is, Din is somehow both one of the strongest people Luke's ever met and one of the most genuinely humble; when he demurs about anything from his ability to fix a leaking pipe to his overall significance in the galaxy, he's not just doing it to affect modesty, he actually believes it. How someone can think they're completely insignificant and irrelevant while also being _the ruler of Mandalor_ is beyond Luke, who has at least accepted that it's a big deal to be apparently the only Jedi in the galaxy, even if he's not comfortable with it.

(And yeah, one day they're going to need to talk about the Mand'alor thing too, but Luke's taking challenges one at a time.)

All this makes it abundantly clear that Din won't believe him even if Luke does bring the issue up. His ridiculously endearing belief that the kid is 'special' (which honestly makes Luke's heart feel warm every time Din says it) does not mean Din will accept the same about himself, and that's even before the fact that after all this time Din still occasionally slips into referring to the Force as sorcery. Luke had been amazed by the possibilities of the Force himself when he first learned what he could do, but he'd adapted to the idea fast. Din still seems to find the existence of the Force hard to believe sometimes, and maybe that's part of why the Jedi always started training kids so young - it's a lot easier to grow up accepting that something is true than have to try and change your entire world view after several decades of life.

The upshot of all of this is that Luke knows the discussion won't be an easy one, and he's reluctant to disturb the peace they've both found together. There is an equally important list burning its way into his mind of the reasons why actually they really do need to talk about it, but he's able to keep pushing that off into a problem for the future right up until he realises Din is unconsciously communicating with Grogu in the Force.

The epiphany comes when Din is making lunch one day. Luke's sitting at the table, entertaining Grogu by making their cups dance around just out of his reach without spilling a drop. It's a good mental exercise for him too, to keep the liquid steady while he keeps sneaking glances over at Din. His companion is slicing homemade bread, the smell of which has been making Luke's stomach rumble for half the morning; Din's taking to baking bread with an almost shy enthusiasm, quietly admitting that he finds the endless kneading relaxing. It's another piece of domesticity tentatively found in this quiet place.

Grogu follows Luke's line of sight, burbling, and he pushes a sense of mighty hunger out into the Force.

"Nearly ready," Din says, glancing up at them both, and Luke fancies he can hear a smile in his voice. (He's got no way of knowing for sure, but he thinks he's learnt to tell.)

It's not the words that give Luke his moment of realisation, because Din has always understood Grogu fairly well in their one-way conversations. Grogu understands him too, usually, because his grasp of language is better than he sometimes pretends and anyway he can often pick up on Din's intentions through the Force.

What _does_ tip him off is that Grogu concentrates very hard on an image of the fish they'd eaten for dinner last night, conveying in what is practically a shout in Luke's mind that he'd like the same thing for lunch. Luke has barely opened his mouth to respond, though, when Din speaks.

"I can catch you more fish later, kid, but you're having a sandwich for lunch."

Grogu huffs, slumping down in his seat, and Din chuckles before depositing a plate in front of him.

Luke closes his mouth slowly.

Din hands Luke a plate too, clasping Luke's shoulder briefly with his other hand. The warmth seems to linger even after he moves away and it makes Luke feel grounded; he makes the split second decision to let Din eat before he says anything.

Din goes into the next room with his own lunch - and that, too, is a change, because he used to shut himself in his bedroom before he was willing to remove the helmet. Despite a vague feeling of impending doom, Luke can't help but smile as he leans forward and attempts to reconstruct the sandwich Grogu is determinedly removing the vegetables from.

He's only halfway through his own meal when Din returns, depositing his empty plate on the counter and dropping down into the seat across from Luke. Grogu is still crunching his way through the last of the veggies, prepared to eat them now that they're the last remaining thing on his plate.

"Din," Luke says, deciding that there's no point delaying the inevitable any further. "How did you know Grogu wanted that fish?"

The helmet swivels round to him, and tilts slightly. "What?"

"Before, you told Grogu he couldn't have fish for lunch."

If a helmet can convey bemusement, this one was doing so. "It was obvious."

"Why?"

"He really liked it last night, and he - he made that noise - he was trying to tell me." But the hesitation in Din's voice detracts a little from the confidence of his words. It's plain that he simply hadn't thought about it, and Luke can't stand the doubt there, the tone that creeps in whenever Din's worried he's failed his son somehow.

"He _was_ trying to tell you," Luke says softly. "I could sense it. He was saying it through the Force."

Din looks at Grogu for a long moment before his gaze returns to Luke. "But that's not how I knew. It wouldn't be."

Luke takes a slow breath, steadying himself. "Actually, it is, Din. You heard him through the Force. You have the same ability to use the Force that Grogu and I do, I've felt it in you before."

The silence feels very loud between them. Grogu has even stopped eating, eyes huge and ears twitching. It's so quiet that Luke can hear birds calling, far away.

"I don't have what he has - what you have," Din says eventually.

He sounds hoarse, and as if to demonstrate what he means when words fail him he lifts his hand with his thumb and two fingers extended, mimicking the way Grogu looks when he wields the Force - and it hits like a sucker punch, sometimes, how much Luke cares about this man, this brilliant, maddening man.

"You have the potential for it," Luke corrects, when he feels like he can talk without his voice breaking. "The Force sits strangely within you, concealed in a way I haven't seen before. I think it might be because you've never really used it, not intentionally. But it's strong, Din. There's a lot of potential there."

"I'm a Mandalorian. I'm not a Jedi."

"Can't you be both?" Luke softens it with a smile, because that's not what he's suggesting, really. He _does_ think it might be where Grogu ends up, one day, but that's a conversation for another time. "Being Force-sensitive doesn't automatically make you a Jedi. Nor would learning some techniques of how to use the Force. That doesn't have to be your path. But learning some of it might help you."

Din's hands are on the table in front of him. He's not wearing his gloves, and Luke can see how tightly he's twisted his fingers together. It makes his heart ache, and he's about to reach out when Din stands.

"I'm - I'll be back," he says abruptly, and leaves the room.

Luke breathes out a sigh, and as he hears the temple doors open and quickly close again he rubs a hand over his face. Grogu sends a worried thought his way, and Luke manages a smile for him.

"That could've gone better, huh?" he says, and Grogu tilts his head in a way that is eerily similar to his father.

Luke is so screwed.

He'd rather like to spend the afternoon attempting to sleep and pretend he hasn't just messed everything up, but there's no space for such things when he's got a child to look after. Instead he brings Grogu along to do some routine maintenance on R2, with whom he has a private agreement that the child is allowed to be present during repairs provided Luke _never_ , even for the merest second, leaves Grogu unsupervised around any of his parts. It's a reasonable compromise.

The work is grounding, and he talks through what he's doing to Grogu as he goes, lets him help where he can. It's a good distraction, and he's not even sure how much time has passed when he senses Din standing in the doorway.

He has to shuffle out from underneath a raised R2, Grogu on his stomach holding a wrench in both hands, to see him. Din's boots are scuffed with dirt, suggesting he'd gone for a long walk rather than to his ship, and the worst of the tension has slipped away from his shoulders.

Luke sets Grogu down on the ground and sits up. The kid patters over to Din, greeting him with a hug to his shin.

Din settles down on the floor, one hand cradling Grogu's back, and then he looks up. Luke can no more see his eyes than usual but somehow Din's gaze seems to sear into him, something blazing through the Force between them. He wonders if, for once, Din knows he's doing it.

"I'd be able to talk to him, through the Force, if you teach me? I'd be able to talk to you both?"

He doesn't ask about lightsabers, about fighting with the Force, about moving things with his mind. He just wants to be able to communicate properly with his child, and - and to have another way to speak to Luke.

Din Djarin is a good man, Luke thinks, whether he admits it or not.

And in that moment, Luke _knows_. He knows what it is now, this fire that burns in his chest, the feeling that swells inside him so vast sometimes that he can barely breathe, that makes him feel like he might laugh or cry just for thinking of it. He won't voice it, not now, not yet; he doesn't even let himself think its name, because the enormity of it is almost more than he can bear. But it is brilliant, too. He understands how the Jedi could have been wary of it but this feeling is like light itself, like he's harbouring a star beneath his skin.

"Yes, Din," Luke says, and he wonders if the revelation comes across in his voice, if Din has felt a surge of emotion from him that he doesn't know how to interpret. "Yes. I'll teach you."

* * *

They begin with meditation.

They wait until the following morning, because Luke has several panels to finish reattaching to R2 and then discovers so much of the day has passed that it's already dinner time. Hard experience has taught Luke and Din both that there's no point trying to get Grogu to do anything productive when he's hungry; besides, it seems no bad thing to Luke to give Din more time to come to terms with what they've discussed today. Instead they eat and, as the evening shadows grow long, they sit outside and Din reads to Grogu from one of the books Luke had begun to stock his library with for when there would one day be children in the temple. Luke lies back on the grass, watching the gold-tinged clouds wander through the sky while Din's low, gentle voice spins stories of fairytales on distant planets.

In the morning, Din joins them in one of Luke's favourite meditation spots. The large, curved room is at the very centre of the temple, tall stone walls reaching two storeys up to where the glass dome sits. Cleaning the glass is still on the lengthy list of tasks Luke needs to get to, so the room is less bright than it should be, but there is an ethereal quality to the light that fights its way through, lending a sort of gentle mystery to the room. It will be beautiful one day, and he can sense that when he meditates; the awe of what was once here, the steady promise of what will be.

Din is clearly uneasy, out of his depth; Luke can read it in the uncharacteristic hesitance of his steps. Grogu is excited enough for both of them, keeps shuffling ahead and looking back to make sure Din is following. Din hasn't joined them in meditation before, even to watch; he avoids it out of respect, and Luke can't help admiring that, but he would never have minded sharing this with him.

"Sit down," Luke says to both of them. It's a strange moment, as they all settle onto the floor together, when Luke realises that - for today at least - he has two students. He meant what he said to Din, that this wasn't about becoming a Jedi; that doesn't have to be what's at the end of the path for any of his students. But he will give all of them everything he can, Din included.

Din especially.

And Din has come here prepared to try. Luke can see that despite his hesitance. He briefed Din ahead of time that being comfortable aided meditation, hence his own and Grogu's loose robes; Din, in turn, has come wearing no armour but for his helmet. He is smaller without it, lean rather than bulky in soft, loose clothes, but nonetheless Luke sees only strength in him.

"Close your eyes, and begin to listen," Luke says, dropping his voice into the gentle, steady tone with which he always guides Grogu through meditation. "Listen to my voice, to the sound of your own breath."

He takes them through the process slowly, drawing their focus inwards at first. He can sense doubt and even frustration from Din; he's not sure he's doing it right, doesn't know what he's trying to do, or how to clear his mind. Luke keeps talking in the same soft cadence, though, unhurried and without judgement.

Luke has his own eyes closed, but he senses the moment Din's breathing slows to match his own and Grogu's. Din's presence in the Force still feels like water to Luke, normally a river or a waterfall; active, alert, unceasing. It's no wonder, when he's lived a life of death and danger with no one but himself to keep him safe.

When Din deepens his breath, muscles relaxing by increments, the pace of the water begins to slow.

Luke draws this early stage out for longer than he usually would. Grogu is good with meditation, and doesn't tend to grow impatient with it since he understands the purpose is to release such feelings, but today Luke knows he can sense the same thing - the gradual stillness taking shape beside them, a surging river becoming a quiet lake, disturbed only by ripples.

Eventually, Luke moves them forward. "Reach out," he murmurs, the words familiar from many morning exercises. "Reach out with your feelings and sense the world around you. The Force is created by all living things, an energy that binds the universe together. It flows between us. Reach out for it."

This is usually the point where he would begin to encourage Grogu to levitate objects around him, or indeed (since the most recent development) to levitate _himself_ as well as any nearby objects. To that end there are small handfuls of pebbles scattered on the floor, a collection Grogu's been building on various walks to personalise his meditations. Luke's grown used to coming back with his pockets full of whatever smooth little stones have attracted his student's eye that day.

Today, however, something disturbs the stillness of Grogu's mind. The child sends a tendril of curiosity across to Luke, who opens his eyes.

He and Grogu are still on the ground, their surroundings firmly adhering to gravity. But there is a tiny handful of pebbles in the air, hovering almost stationary a foot above the floor.

Grogu blinks his eyes open too. It's not him doing this, and it's certainly not Luke.

Din is sitting cross legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. It's clear his eyes are closed, because he's yet to notice his audience.

There's nothing showy about Din's use of the Force, nothing excessive that immediately speaks to rare skill. He's not lifting a mudhorn, just a few pebbles. But, to Luke's eye, there is something extraordinary in it nonetheless. Din must be doing it without thinking, without even realising, because there's no way he'd be sitting there so calmly if he knew what he'd done. All it has required is calming his mind, finding peace within himself, which is now manifesting in these gently shifting stones.

Din is all skill and power when he moves, economical and graceful and dangerous, but the tragedy of it is that he believes that's all he is. It's incredible and valuable, of course, but there is so much more to him that he cannot see - but that Grogu sees, and Luke sees. And here is the proof of how much Din holds within himself even when he is at peace not war; that even at the antithesis of what he's been trained for, there is more brilliance within him.

 _Remarkable_ , Luke thinks, and smiles to himself.

Grogu coos. He's excited, proud of his father's achievement, and he wants Din to know it. His father is always so proud of him and he wants to share his own delight back, and it's heart-warming to see even though Luke suspects he's forgotten his father's capacity for denial.

The sound breaks Din's concentration and he visibly jolts, and the pebbles fall immediately to the ground.

"You alright, kid?" Din leans forward, stretching a hand towards his son.

Grogu tilts his head to the side curiously. He's reaching out to Din in the Force, only to find the connection to his father has grown disturbed again.

"Did you do the sorcerer stuff right? Good job, Grogu."

Grogu looks from Din to Luke then back again, then slumps backwards with a disgruntled sigh.

Luke knows the feeling.

* * *

His next approach is to focus on something that will feel a lot more natural to Din, and that makes his target an object he's been intrigued by ever since Din first revealed it to him.

Raising the subject gets met with the conversational equivalent of a brick wall.

"No."

"You need to learn to use it, Din."

"I don't."

Luke leans against the door frame and raises an eyebrow. He's come to Din's room for this conversation, because he knows this is where Din keeps the saber.

"It's more than just a weapon," Luke says, which is as close as he'll come to the subject of Mandalor for now, and even that makes Din shift uneasily. "As long as it's in your possession, it's both an aid and a liability. If you don't know how to use it well, it will only be a risk to you. I can train you."

"I don't need to train with it. I could use it if I had to."

Some days he really feels like he needs to be saved from the stubbornness of Mandalorians. Grogu is watching them from the bed with his head swivelling like he's watching a sport.

"You train with any new weapon, don't you?" Luke points out. "You must have trained with that beskar spear when you first got it."

"I'd trained with spears before."

"Oh, so you've used other lightsabers before, have you?"

Impenetrable the helmet may be, but Luke knows when someone is glaring at him. He counters with a smile, determined to be just as stubborn as Din.

"I don't need to learn to use it, because I don't intend to fight with it," Din says, changing tack.

"I'm no expert on Mandalorian culture, but it seems a bit contrary to expectation to see a Mandalorian own a weapon he refuses to fight with."

"I'd sooner throw it into a sun than use it."

"So you say. But it's still in that box of yours, isn't it?"

Din doesn't answer, and Luke relents. He comes forward, reaching out in a move that is becoming ever more automatic to take Din's hand. "Let me help you," he says quietly, beseeching. "With any luck you'll never need it, but that saber can cut through things no blaster can. You wouldn't wear durasteel when you own beskar, would you? These powers can make you stronger."

And this - this might expose more than he feels ready to tell Din, but this is the crux of the whole thing for Luke. He doesn't want Din to learn to use the Force simply because he can, no matter how remarkable it is to find a Force-sensitive Mandalorian. And he doesn't have the same enormity of power that Grogu has which makes learning control a necessity.

Right at the heart of it, for Luke, it's about the fact that he knows they can't stay here forever. There are causes far greater than either of them that will one day call them off this planet, that will likely separate them for at least a time. There is such a sense of hope in Luke's heart when he thinks about the future, there always has been, especially since he started to plan his school. That hope is so much more powerful now, because it's not just a school he's building at the moment, but something that feels like it might be a family. He hopes nothing calls them away soon, and he hopes that even when they part they will reconvene here, and always come back. He hopes and hopes and hopes.

Din is capable and already strong but he walks a dangerous path and if there is anything in the universe that Luke can do to make him even a fraction safer, he wants to do it. If Din can wield the Force then he will be able to protect himself even more than he can now, for all the times to come when Luke might not be by his side to do it for him.

Quite without any conscious decision making, Din has entered into that precious circle of people that Luke cannot envision the galaxy without.

There's a stillness between them for a moment, and then Din's hand slips out of his. It feels like a loss, but then Din is prising the lid off his storage box, pulling out the hilt of that strange weapon.

"Alright," he says, nodding. "Alright. Show me, Jedi."

And there's something fond in the way he says it, like _Jedi_ is a nickname more than a title, a sign of respect and friendship and affection bound into one, and for a selfish moment Luke wishes they could simply stay here forever, the three of them, just as they are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din struggles with his training, until he's in a situation where instinct takes over to protect what he can no longer bear to live without.

They train every day.

In a way it feels good to Din. Since he arrived here he's been working out on his own a little, trying to keep sharp the fighting skills he's never had to worry about before because he was using them almost as often as he slept. It's more natural to him to fight against someone than practice moves alone, and more satisfying. Plus he hasn't fought anyone except Cara just for training or sport since he completed his training all those years ago, and Luke is very easily the most skilled opponent he's ever faced. Feeling his body loosen and strengthen is a welcome outcome, and it doesn't bother him (much) that he's aware he wouldn't stand a chance against Luke if they were in a true battle.

What's harder to face, of course, is why they're doing it, and what they're doing it with.

The darksaber is a weapon unlike any he's used before, and it fits uneasily in his hand. It's light, far lighter than any other weapon of its size that he's ever wielded, and that upsets his balance, his expectations when he makes each move. But it's heavy, too, in a way that goes beyond the physical. It could be his imagination, of course, placing his own anxieties about what the saber represents onto it, but that doesn't feel like it encompasses what he feels - a sense of hollowness, grief, a terrible loss that is like staring down into an abyss that has no end.

He tries to explain this to Luke, but he doesn't like the answer it earns him.

"I sense that in the blade too," Luke says, a sombre look on his face that Din hates to see there. "There are echoes in objects sometimes, traces almost like memory... It has been used in ways it was never intended for."

The more he learns, the less Din understands about the Force. "You mean, the way it makes me feel - that comes _from_ the weapon?"

"You can sense it, yes. The more you start to connect with the Force, the more you'll hear what it tells you. My old master, Ben Kenobi, he felt it the moment Alderaan was destroyed, before we ever heard the news. I've sensed... many things, since then. But, Din," Luke adds, studying him earnestly, and his eyes are so bright, his hand on Din's wrist like a burning brand, "just because something has known darkness doesn't mean it can't feel light again. Soon the saber will know _you_ , and it will remember hope."

None of this makes sense, not in the least. Some days Din thinks he should be used to this by now, the sensation of his world being upended on its axis, because it's happened so many times, ever since he was a child. But it it shakes him each time, all the same, and now there is this - this impossible idea that he can has potential to be something like Grogu, something like Luke, when they are so brilliant, so _important_ , and he's just... himself.

Luke has talked about Din's Force powers like they are closed away within a box, and if - it is a big _if_ \- he suspends disbelief sufficiently to believe any of this is possible, deep down he thinks he knows what Luke means. It doesn't feel like it can be real, not for him, so why would he entertain the idea? Why would he try to sense something when there is only failure at the end? That determination is beginning to tremble, on some level, because Luke is so _sure_ , but when the ground beneath him is like shifting sand he clings to what he knows. All in all it means that he is trying to learn to fight with a Jedi's weapon without any of the powers of a Jedi. This would still stand him in good stead, he thinks, for a fight against anyone _else_ , but given who his opponent is more often than not he ends up having this thought from the flat of his back, trying to catch his breath.

"You really do have an excellent instinct for the forms," Luke says, considerately pausing so that his shadow stretches over Din's head as he offers a hand. "But you're essentially tying one hand behind your own back. You won't be able to access the same fluidity without the Force, and I can sense your movements coming but you're still not trying to do the same."

"I don't understand how," Din protests, disgruntled. He knows it's not really fair; Luke has explained it to him several times with admirable patience. "It never works when I try."

"Hmm." The noise gives little away, but Luke wiggles his fingers until Din lets himself be hauled upwards. For someone so slight, Luke makes remarkably little of helping up a man wearing so much beskar, and Din suspects the involvement of the kriffing Force. Again. He's also significantly less winded and sweaty than Din feels; his face is a little flushed, his hair tousled, but he looks more like someone who's taken a gentle stroll than one who's spent the last hour fighting.

It's only when Luke clears his throat that Din realises he's staring, that a long moment has passed with them standing barely a foot apart, hands linked. The strangest thing is that he doesn't _mind_ , doesn't feel the sudden need to reclaim his space; he feels like he would be happy to stay right where he is.

Luke, however, has brightened as though an idea has struck him. It's a familiar look to Din by now, and not entirely reassuring.

"I think I've been approaching this wrong," Luke announces with a troubling grin, and he turns to their small audience.

Grogu has his own seat out here, a tiny chair Din and Luke made him. It's a little crude - Luke has a little more experience but Din has barely ever worked with wood as something other than fire fuel before - and there were several failed attempts before it, but Grogu is besotted enough not to notice the errors. He loves watching them train, and Luke considers it a useful educational experience; lightsaber work will, after all, be on his own curriculum one day.

"Grogu, do you have your ball?" Luke asks, crouching down in front of the child.

Grogu pulls the little silver ball, sole surviving part of the Razor Crest, out of his robes, but cradles it close to his chest like Luke is going to try and steal it.

Luke, however, leans forward and whispers something that Din is much too far away to hear. Whatever it is clearly delights Grogu, though, because his ears shoot up and he bounces so much that he nearly upends the chair. Luke laughs, and steps aside.

"Go on, then," he says, and Grogu raises his hand.

The ball leaves his fingers and floats easily in the air. It's a commonplace sight around the temple, because Luke frequently uses it as a dexterity exercise for Grogu even now that he can lift far larger objects, but this small trick still takes Din's breath away. He smiles beneath the helmet, as proud of his kid as he's ever been.

He doesn't understand the point of the demonstration, though, until the ball floats in a neat arc over to him. It hovers in front of his face until he reaches out to take it, and Grogu coos in approval.

"Right then," Luke says, grinning. "Give it back to him."

Din stares. "What?"

"Send it back. Like he did."

He can't be serious. "How?"

"Reach out with your mind. Feel it. Not with touch, but with your thoughts. The Force is energy, and it flows through you. Sense the ball, its shape and how it sits in the air, and push it forward. You've done it before, in meditation, without even trying."

"I _can't_."

Maybe there's a more desperate edge to his voice than he intends, because Luke is suddenly back beside him. The proximity is reassuring, somehow.

"I wouldn't be asking you to do these things if I didn't know you were capable," he says. His voice is low, private, like a promise. "I believe in you, Din."

The words are like a flame inside his heart. If anyone has ever said them to Din before, he doesn't remember it.

He closes his eyes. Breathes, long and steady. He can feel the physical shape of the ball in his palm, still, but that isn't what Luke is talking about. He reaches instead for the feeling of the darksaber, and thinks that he _has_ known things like that before - the brightness in his mind of Grogu reaching for him, that certainty right from the start that he could trust Luke before he knew even as much as his name. There is something that connects it all, a thread of sensation, a sense beyond the physical, the ghost of a weight in his hand that's thought as much as reality -

But it's gone, one heartbeat to the next, and the ball doesn't move. He's not what Luke thinks he is, and that _hurts_ like an open wound because he wants to be, more than he can explain.

He opens his eyes, expecting to see his own disappointment reflected on Luke's face, but there's a smile there instead - something so bright he almost thinks he should look away, but can't.

"I couldn't do it," he says helplessly, bemused by this misplaced enthusiasm.

"You sensed it, didn't you?" Luke almost seems to be bouncing on his toes like the kid.

"I - yeah, maybe."

Luke slings an arm over Din's shoulders like it's natural, like they've known each other all their lives. "We'll make a Force user of you yet, Din Djarin."

And he's so sure of it, so pleased and unhesitating, that Din...

Din, for a moment, believes he's right.

A burst of chattering breaks him from his reverie, and he looks round in time to see Grogu lift a hand. The ball flings itself out of Din's grip and speeds into Grogu's hands. The kid narrows his eyes very pointedly at Din, clasps the ball close in satisfaction, and begins to stamp off towards the temple.

Din and Luke turn to each other at the same time, and when they start laughing it's a long time before they stop.

And this, Din thinks, ribs aching for once from _laughter_ rather than injuries, might be what he's waited his entire life to find without ever knowing it.

* * *

The first time Din deliberately uses the Force, he does it to save Luke's life.

It starts, as Din will come to learn a lot of things do, with Luke attempting to set out to do something very brave and highly dangerous on his own.

"I had a vision," Luke announces one morning, bursting into the kitchen shirtless, barefooted, and as manic as if he'd already consumed an entire pot of caf.

Din, crouched down beside Grogu's chair in the middle of attempting to wipe what seems like half the kid's breakfast off his face with his own sleeve, spends longer than is probably reasonable trying to process what he's seeing.

Luke is unperturbed. "Another temple," he says, wide-eyed and almost glowing. If he's aware he's only wearing trousers, he doesn't show it. "It's abandoned but there's something there - a text, I think. A remote moon in the Outer Rim, I've never been there but I know how to get to it. I can _feel_ it."

Din currently feels like he only has two braincells functioning, but he manages to scrape them together sufficiently to speak through a strangely dry mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"I need to go," Luke continues, beaming at Din as if he hasn't just ignored the question. "You two'll be alright here for a while, right?"

And that is sufficient to snap Din out of the daze and he stands up, fully alert and scowling. He hopes Luke can feel the sense of _absolutely not_ he's suddenly overflowing with.

"You're planning to just fly off solo to some unknown Outer Rim moon based on a dream?"

Luke's face falls slightly. A slightly crestfallen look overtakes his excitement. "Din, it's an ancient Jedi text. There are so few of them left, so much I still don't know. I _have_ to."

And Din understands that. They're strangely alike, he and Luke, for all that their predecessors may have fought; it's like they've walked parallel paths all their lives, only now intersecting. He understands that weight of history and loss, the power of having even a piece of your ransacked culture returned.

But he also knows Luke is so much more than the order that came before him, that he _matters_ as so much more than the last holder of those millennia of knowledge. He is _Luke_ , bold and warm and kind, and Din would sooner die than see that lost.

"I'm not saying don't go. I'm saying I'm coming with you."

Surprise blooms into delight on Luke's face, and Din knows he's made the right choice, or would have if it had felt like a choice at all.

"What about Grogu? It might not be safe."

"We can take him to Cara. This text isn't going to get any less lost in a few extra days, right?"

"Right." Luke grabs his lightsaber which, for some reason, he'd apparently left tucked on top of the fridge. Din has given up wondering about these things. "Let's get going, then!"

"Luke."

"Mmm?"

"Clothes."

Luke looks down at himself, then back up at Din, and his face turns scarlet. "Right. Yeah. Good call."

He pivots with an unusual lack of grace and hurries back down the corridor.

Din sinks back on his heels. "What just happened?" he murmurs, feeling vaguely winded. Grogu pats his hand in a sweet gesture that smears more of his breakfast over Din's fingers.

Din sighs, as if from the very depths of his soul.

* * *

It's not that Din minds making the trip. Leaving is a little strange, since he's been settled here longer than he's stayed in one place for years. But they've not left the temple for more than a couple of supply runs the whole time he's been there, so it's good to fly again - and besides, the most important parts of life at the temple have left with him.

The flight is more enjoyable than usual - everything is easier when he and Luke can take it in turns to fly, rest and look after Grogu, and after they've left him on Nevarro with Cara (who is extremely happy to meet Luke in person and gives Din slightly more knowing smiles than he is comfortable with), he and Luke just sit at the controls and talk. With anyone else, that amount of conversation would be stifling and impossible for Din, but in this as in everything Luke is different.

So it's not the flight, and it's not that the moon is hard to land on or the temple difficult to access.

The problem is that it's not as abandoned as expected.

"This wasn't part of the vision," Luke says, sounding more disgruntled than concerned, even as he twists his lightsaber in a complex pattern that sends blaster shots rebounding at the enemy.

It's possible that the ability to quip during a fight is an integral part of being a Jedi, but Din opts for his preferred choice of rolling a grenade down the corridor and pulling Luke back around the corner.

Luke looks remarkably put out as the explosion sounds and a cloud of dust replaces blaster shots. "Do you have to blow up the temple?"

Din feels confident that any of the ancient Jedi whose home he's damaging would rather lose parts of an old building than the last surviving member of their Order, but he doesn't waste breath on this thought either. He's too busy scanning for heat signatures, but his helmet isn't registering anything in the corridor. That's no guarantee some of the damn droids that first detected them aren't still in working order under the rubble, though, so with only a look exchanged he and Luke set off at a run again.

"Jedi relic hunters," he says pointedly; he says it without inflection but there's a very obvious question there.

Luke huffs out a curse. He's barely breathless, even while running and mid-fight; he's in even better shape than Din realised, and he moves smoothly, lightsaber poised steadily at his side. "I've had dealings with their sort before, though not in these circumstances," he replies, and it's some kind of comfort that he's avoided this danger before, Din supposes, though it doesn't get them out of the present situation. "I've bought or, ah, 'borrowed' a few things from them over the years. Artefacts that escaped the Empire's purge carry a high price, though for most people they're collector's pieces more than practical tools."

Practical tools like the book Luke's got in a pouch on his belt, lifted reverently from its pedestal right before the scavengers arrived and started shooting. The book fascinated Luke, even in those few moments he had the chance to look at it, and maybe something good will come out of the debacle if the book contains more information Luke can use to keep himself and the kid safe.

They've got to get out in order for that to become a reality, though. The relic hunters are, he suspects, also engaged in more naturally violent occupations; they're well armed, brutal and not bothered how many of their companions get killed, so his theory is they're some kind of pirate crew and the book is extremely valuable. After all, to those without ties to their teammates, fewer companions means a bigger cut of the take.

All they need to do is make it to the ship. They'll take out the pirates' craft if they get a chance on the way, but with Luke's and his own abilities Din's confident they can outmanoeuvre in space if they're pursued. Unfortunately they had to go a long way into the temple, a much larger complex than their own, and the hunters blocked them from retracing their steps. Din's following Luke's lead, trusting in his greater experience and instincts for such places, and since blowing up that corridor they're yet to encounter anyone else. It's possible they've got everyone but Din keeps his blaster out in front anyway.

(The darksaber is on his belt, but he's got a long way to go before he's as comfortable with it as his other weapons. Besides, Luke's a good enough melee fighter for the both of them; it's more useful for Din to be able to complement him with ranged fire.)

They emerge from the maze of corridors into a cavernous hall that Din recognises, at last - it's the entrance hall, reached by another route. They're so close, which is why it's even worse to see the hunters mustered across the room, dozens of them.

A shout goes up and the firing starts. Din takes cover behind a pillar, leaning round to return fire with vicious accuracy. Luke, unarmoured but fearless, steps forward and continues to simply deflect or even seem to _catch_ plasma bolts with his free hand, redirecting them back at the pirates. It's like watching an inhumanly complex dance, as deadly as it is enchanting, and Din wishes he could afford to watch more closely; Luke is music made into lethal movement.

Din's just taken down another hunter - chest shot; the man falls and lies still - when something _shifts_. Most of the fire is still coming at them, a lot concentrated on the more visible Luke, but one shooter is aiming _up_ , shooting incessantly. Din aims, fires, but she evades, and then someone else is firing up too, and Din doesn't know _why_ -

There's a terrible, inhuman groan, like the guttural call of some cavern-dwelling beast. It's instinct that has Din moving, faster than thought, no time for doubt. He just _knows_ , and he springs forward.

It's a fraction of time, barely more than a heartbeat. Luke begins to look up, his focus on the fight meaning that he senses it coming an instant later, but Din is already moving.

It's easy, in the end. He doesn't _try_ , he simply does it, because there is no other outcome he can accept.

He thrusts one hand out and up, fingers splayed, as if pushing at something right in front of his head. But the power isn't physical, it's something _more_ , something from deep inside his chest, fierce and urgent.

And the massive chunks of stone that fall as the vaulted ceiling shatters don't fall straight down, where Luke stands directly in their path. Instead they are flung away, as if they are nothing more than clouds before a strong wind, but they slam into the hunters, crashing into the wall behind them, with the weight of meteors.

For an instant Din can feel everything; the trembling walls, the movement of debris and dust, the echo of all the people who stood here before him.

But there is only one thing that matters.

He doesn't know if he reaches for Luke or Luke reaches for him but they are grasping at each other's arms as they run, hauling each other over wreckage as the rumble of more falling stone nips at their heels. They don't slow until they're outside, well clear of the temple and halfway back to the ship, and Din spares the half-collapsed structure only a fleeting glimpse to be sure no one is following them out.

All he can think about is how close that was, how he was a heartbeat away from the unthinkable, and his heart is beating to the sound of _Luke-Luke-LukeLukeLukeLuke-_

"Are you alright?" he demands, and his hands are on Luke's shoulders somehow. He can feel how tense his grip is but Luke is holding his arms just as tight.

"That was unexpected," Luke says. His eyes are wide and he's covered in dust and small scratches, but his voice is clear and there's no blood, no signs of pain.

Wherever Luke has dredged this gallows humour up from, Din doesn't know; for his own part, he's not entirely sure he's breathing. An aftershock of horror is crashing over him, dread and a visceral, raw sort of terror. Luke could have _died_ , been gone in an instant, and Din would have lost more than he can even conceive, and in his mind's eye he can see the universe carrying on, ignorant of that unbearable loss, and for the sake of his son Din would have had to go on too but he would be so _alone_ , bereft of someone he doesn't know when he began to _need_ like this, like air, like sunlight.

"Din. _Din_."

Luke's hand is on the side of the helmet, pressing firm enough that Din feels the pressure against his cheek, his jaw. With virtually anyone else in the galaxy that proximity would have made him jerk back, knife to their throat, but he didn't even notice it happen. Luke is past all his defences, has been for longer than Din knows.

"I'm alright." There is a steady promise in those shining eyes, a smile curving Luke's lips. "That was brilliant. Din, what you did. You are _brilliant_."

What he did.

There's no denying it now; that was magic. Well, he can almost hear Luke's amused lecture for the thousandth time; not magic but the Force, for all that they seem one and the same to Din. He did that, he simply willed the stones to move and they did, pushed by something deep inside him. And it had been as reflexive as drawing his blaster; to save Luke's life, it had been the most natural thing in the world.

In lieu of words, Din brings a hand up to the back of Luke's neck. He leans in until they are so close he can imagine he feels the heat of Luke's breath on his visor. Luke is frozen, wide-eyed and beautiful, and perhaps this strange power within him can convey what Din does not have the words for. He focuses on the gesture he suddenly longs to offer, _needs_ to offer, as if he's been waiting to do it all along and just never realised, and tries to tell Luke what it means to him.

Luke smiles at him in that way that feels like sunlight and laughter, and his hand trails from the helmet to Din's neck, thumb just brushing against the lowest curls of hair escaping the helmet.

They move as one and their foreheads meet, pressing firmly, skin to beskar; a priceless intimacy, indescribable proof that he has not lost half of all that he truly treasures in his life.

It takes time and strength before he can bring himself to move away, and even then he remains in Luke's space like he's caught up in his gravity.

Luke looks at him like he can see the face behind the mask, studying him as though absorbing every detail of his armour in this one moment. He looks _happy_ , and Din can't keep from smiling.

With his hand moving no further than onto Din's shoulder, fingers curling against the mudhorn pauldron, Luke turns back to survey the temple.

"I wish they hadn't done that," he says, mood dropping a fraction at the sight before them. The dust has mostly settled down, and the entire front portion of the temple has collapsed, burying the entrance - and their attackers - under the wreckage.

Din, privately, couldn't give a single damn about the temple since they both made it out alive, but he knows it means more than that to Luke. "I'm sorry."

Luke releases a breath, then turns away from the temple and pats the pouch still fastened to his belt. "I've got what the Force sent me to find," he says, spirits buoyed by the thought. "That can teach me more than the temple itself. And we didn't die, so there's that."

Din snorts. "There's that," he agrees, and he means it to come out wryly but it sounds altogether too relieved instead.

* * *

It's late evening a few days later when they finally get back home. Grogu, having been spoiled beyond belief on Nevarro, alternated between manic trouble making and deep sleep on the journey back, and it was hard to keep things relatively calm even with both of them looking after him. It's a relief to reach their temple again, a much more homely sight than the one they left (even before the collapse), and Din reflects for the first time that he can see why Luke chose this place, for reasons beyond its security.

They continue to swap tasks when they get inside, taking it in turns to have a real shower and change while the other works on dinner. They're too tired for much more than a basic meal, fortunately well supplied from Nevarro, and they take it outside to eat under the setting sun.

They settle themselves in what has become their usual spot, in the garden around the sapling. Luke told him in the long hours of their flights that Din feels so drawn to the tree because it too is Force-sensitive, a cutting from the lost tree at the Coruscant Jedi temple so rare that only one other exists. He felt mildly betrayed by the tree at first, but being back here again there's no denying how peaceful it feels to him.

Sitting there, in this little haven all their own with Luke and Grogu, Din feels something settle inside him that he hadn't even realised had been uneasy the whole time they'd been away.

And he realises that somewhere along the way this has become _home_ , this place, these people. Not home like the Razor Crest was, ever moving and often lonely, or like the covert, always at risk of attack. This is home like he's not known since he was a child, little more than a distant memory now, but the type of safe that you didn't have to question, a belonging that he'd never had cause to doubt.

He hopes Grogu feels that too. He looks down at the kid - _his kid_ \- where he sits swallowing down the last of his dinner, _still_ not chewing properly even though he's been told a hundred times. And Din gathers up the overwhelming, radiant lightness of love that he feels for his child into his mind and nudges it as best he can, clumsy and faltering, towards his son.

And Grogu lights up, eyes impossibly wide, arms waving and reaching wildly in demand until Din picks him up, cradles him close, engulfed in a moment of happiness purer than he's ever known.

He doesn't know how to communicate with Grogu properly yet, but this - this is the most important thing he has ever needed to tell him.

Din doesn't think he'll ever be comfortable with the Force like Grogu is, or wear it as a second skin like Luke. But it's not so bad to have it, he supposes, if it means he can keep them both safe and let them know how important they are.

As the sun goes down and the stars come out, in constellations he has begun to recognise by now, Din settles his yawning son on his lap and reaches out to twine his fingers with Luke's.

"Thank you," Din says, and he's not sure exactly what he means - for dinner, for teaching him what he needed to save Luke's life, for letting him come here in the first place, for giving him things worth caring so much about. For all of it, maybe, for what his life has been lately, what it never would have been if he hadn't met Luke.

It's not even thanks that he means to say, not really, but for the moment it is all he can manage.

Whether he understands or not, Luke is smiling as he leans in to press their foreheads together once more.


End file.
